Friday, March 16, 2018

I am slowly gathering information on artists creating work about global warming, specifically in the Arctic Circle. My friend, Colin Edgington, suggested I look into Beatrix Reinhardt's photographs of Greenland from 2007, ten years prior to my visit.

Beatrix Reinhardt, Untitled, 2007

From Beatrix's website: "This Disorder and order are in constant flux, as the landscape expresses grandeur or devastation, oppression or dynamism."

Beatrix Reinhardt, Untitled, 2007

Beatrix Reinhardt, Untitled, 2007

I quickly found that it was difficult not to take a photograph of Greenland like everyone else's. Perhaps it is all so foreign that we are attracted to the same subject matter.

Jacinda Russell, En route to Sermermiut, 2017

After selecting Reinhardt's photographs for this post, I thumbed through my journal from June 2017.

"First impression: LUNAR."

The last entry:"I will never, ever forget the impact of the icebergs, the air quality in the UNESCO World Heritage site, the best water I have EVER tasted (even better than Iceland), BUT there is also the trash, the cigarette butts that have never been disposed of in a place other than the ground, the exhaust from the few cars that are driven [only 90 miles of roads in the whole country, 40 of which are paved], and the poverty."In my quest for the "metaphorical antipode," this country of extremes offers diametrical opposites within its own borders (as referenced in Reinhardt's quote above). So begins the search for more photographs that indicate that.

There are so many things to love about this booklet: yet another artwork
inspired by Ed Ruscha (I am keeping track), a list, definite numbers, a
conceptual project that incorporates both art and writing, email
correspondence with a librarian, ETC.

From Lenka's website: "Michael Crowe
and I are in the middle of writing a unique hand-written (or
hand-typed) letter to every household in the world. So far we have
written over 2,700 different letters to the residents of Cushendall, a
small Northern Irish seaside town, the inhabitants of Polish Hill,
Pittsburgh, everyone on a long street through St. Gallen, Switzerland, a
suburb of Cologne, Germany, two streets in Paris France, and many, many people in Tilburg, Netherlands. Each
letter is different, and where possible personally addressed. We sign
them "love Michael & Lenka", and write in a chatty, friendly tone
about topics of possible mutual interest; the weather, gentleness,
Roseanne, etc."

Monday, September 18, 2017

It's been a minute (rather 3,732,276 minutes or 7 years, 1 month and 7 days ago) since I was last in Milwaukee. Hannah and I were driving through after floating the last of the styrofoam cakes in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I am looking forward to returning!

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Lately,
I am enamored by small gestures and found several of them on a school
field trip to New York City. López's ruler, in which all the numbers had
fallen off only to be drawn on the sheet of paper below, was a
highlight. If my main medium was drawing, I would strive to make art
like his (also similar to this in concept).

Chance
encounter in the Sky Room at the New Museum - a woman crouching to
photograph a toy dinosaur - her form resembling the plastic creature
itself. The room, bathed in white light, hints at the mountains of snow
melting in the city below.

Raymond Pettibon, A Pen of All Work at the New Museum

I
could stand all day in the "wave room" engulfed by Pettibon's
large-scale drawings, perhaps finally understanding what it would feel
like to surf a pipeline (via words not action). It was the sentiment of
the phrase that made me feel small in the midst of overwhelming blue.

These are not Duane Hanson sculptures. Despite the controversy (we were there during the first Dana Schutz protest), this was the best Whitney Biennial I had ever seen and am thankful for its diversity and references to current times. The reaction above was the exact opposite of mine yet I appreciate seeing others sleeping in public where people had no reservations documenting it.

This was not a small gesture - rather an immersive experience into the Toiletpaper world I continue to respond to each month on Instagram. I am grateful that the rest of the gang enjoyed it as much as I did. Seeing flat photographs come to life in three-dimensional (and often functional form) was an eye-opener in various modes of presentation.

Sunday, March 5, 2017

In January, Amelia and I ventured into the cold and discovered many globes at Midland Antique Mall in Indianapolis. I have a $10 rule (one of the reasons why I have not acquired many new ones in the last couple years) and most of them were beyond that price range.

One caught my eye and I surrendered to the higher price of $14 but not
without a lot of angst as to whether or not I wanted to destroy it. It
helped that it was in sorry shape and fell apart at the cash register. That piece of tape held the two pieces together like a pro, however, as it was the stand that collapsed immediately.

I am continuing my love affair with responding to Toiletpaper Magazine'scalendar in 2017 on Instagram and knew that in addition to creating a
new photograph, it would be a "twice used prop" as March featured one of
my favorite Maurizio Cattelan and Pierpaolo Ferrari's images [above] as first
seen on the cover of The New York Times Magazine.

My sphere was black and I had no intention of matching the exterior
color. I tried to guess the most appropriate ocean blue while at the
hardware store without a globe in front of me (I should know better by
now as I was wildly off). I asked the man at the paint counter how much I
should buy and he thought a quart would fill it. I was deeply skeptical
and opted for a gallon instead.

I plugged the hole in Antarctica with duct tape and after extensive contemplation, hoped this towel and plastic sheet method would hold the globe still, not toppling over onto the floor and backdrop the moment I poured the paint.

I had the wherewithal to photograph the unhappy moment when I realized that a gallon was not enough [insert lots of swearing here]. I scrambled all over the building trying to resolve this issue, all the while knowing that this was a cardboard structure and my time was limited.

This did not work...

... but the very scary filling it with 100 ounces of water and stirring it did. Unfortunately, it was not easy to move and my compositions were limited but it did produce a hue that looked more like "globe water."

I was able to make 16 responses as a "twice used prop" before I threw everything away. One of my colleagues told me I looked like I was hauling body parts out of the building in trash bags. I still have the top half and wonder what role it will play in the future.

Saturday, February 25, 2017

An antipode is defined as the
part of the earth that is diametrically opposite. The term was first used in
1549 in relationship to Australia and New Zealand’s position on the globe,
contrasting with Western Europe. I will approach it as the
place or condition furthest from “here.” I am searching for physical and
metaphorical antipodes and will represent them through photographs created in
the studio, a fabricated landscape, or their exact location on earth. In its most simple terms, my interpretation will show how "here" affects "there" and "there" impacts everywhere.

Monday, February 6, 2017

Times have changed and in November, I made many vows for the next four years as I struggle to place what art I should make in this present reality and my role within it. After the outpouring of interest from friends and strangers who purchased Icelandic Blue Pantone 15-3908last fall, one small gesture I could easily achieve (and maintain) is to support artist-run publications by purchasing one a month. Some of those appeared in the mail two weeks ago along with a couple other surprises.

First a surprise - a catalog from the archives at the Center for Creative Photography sent to me after my last research trip to Tucson.

Amy Elkins's Black is the Day, Black is the Nightarrived in the most fitting black mailer. The combination of handwritten text, scanned letters, digital manipulations and photographic recreations about prisoners on death row will cause anyone to rethink their views on capital punishment (the most appropriate first purchase with this new resolution).

Ball State University also owns a copy (spreading the love x 2).

My friend Kelli introduced me to Mike Slack's Shrubs of Death in the fall. Always a fan of typologies (who wouldn't love awkwardly trimmed bushes found in cemeteries?), I was shocked to discover they were all photographed in Muncie, Indiana. Next on the list: bringing this series to the David Owsley Museum of Art in 2018. It came with a covetable print (thanks Mike!).

A sweet little notebook (surprise #2) also appeared in the post office box from Ernst.

Old photographic manuals and advertisements are interspersed with blank paper. I am not sure I can use it as it is a little too perfect without my messy scrawl inside.

I also bought a Melissa Livermore print in January to help support her year long art adventure in Paris and I look forward to framing it someday in the future. I quickly scooped up Peter Happel Christian's Nearly a Million Sunsetsas 100% of the proceeds went to the Sierra Club. In addition, I participated in a couple protests, called and faxed a few senators, and gave money to twoorganizations that make the world a far better place. I am trying and I have no plans to stop.

Monday, January 16, 2017

From now through 9 April 2017, Icelandic Blue: Pantone 15-3908 will be on view at the Phoenix Art Museum for the INFOCUS Juried Exhibition of Self-Published Photo Books.

My humble little booklet/zine/pamphlet is on the right. The museum assembled a list of all the submissions with links. If you need to say farewell to a half hour of your time, it's highly worth investigating the other entries. I am also fairly confident in saying that mine is the cheapest one available for purchase (ahem... all of you with $10 burning a hole in your pocket...).

In March 2015, I discovered a photograph of James Turrell’s Roden
Crater Field Kit (2000). The oak box, reminiscent of a portable desk from
the 19th century, contains instruments used by surveyors, a rock
from the location, documents, and maps. I was drawn to Turrell’s idea that
other materials were necessary to fully understand an earthwork (and the absurdity
that this was the way it should be
seen).

While visiting Amarillo Ramp, The Lightning Field, Double
Negative, Sun Tunnels and Spiral
Jetty in the year and half that followed, I took note of what would have enriched
my experience. The objects are those that I wished I had brought, those that were
used to perform an action at the site, and those that were culled from the
caretakers’ stories. Surprisingly, many focus on cleaning and upkeep – the antithesis
of the entropy that some of the artists desired. In the end, Roden Crater makes an appearance, though
its observation, due to great cost and inaccessibility, is highly unlikely.

Special
acknowledgement to Andy Traub for transforming my crude sketches into three-dimensional
boxes, Laurie Blakeslee for gifting me the Golden
Guide books from her personal collection, Hannah Barnes for her assistance
with the watercolors, and Nate Larson for suggesting that bubbles were the ideal way to
interact with Sun Tunnels (he was
right, you should try it).

Sunday, October 23, 2016

"His ‘Sea Paintings’ for example, consist simply of 15 seascape paintings
(both old and new, large and small, and from a mix of amateurs and
better known painters such as Patrick von Kalckreuth) arranged salon
style on a single wall. Repetition becomes a disjunctive impulse, as the
paintings in combination with each other begin to reveal a certain
latency of shared experience...."

Hans-Peter Feldmann, Sea Paintings and Horizon on the left wall, 2016

That "single wall" is floating, however. The back becomes as important as the front (not unlike this famous series Verso). Walking through and viewing is more of a participatory act than a stagnant one.

Feldmann's new exhibition at 303 Gallery caught my attention at a time when I try to assemble all my family's photographs of the ocean and when I am equally enamored with the idea of overlap as a form of presentation.

Saturday, September 10, 2016

So far in 2016, I have collected clear water samples from the North and South Island of New Zealand, the Oregon Outback, the Columbia River Gorge, Lake Tahoe, and Brush Creek, Wyoming. I even found a photograph that my grandmother took from a family vacation in 1928 featuring one of the falls where I gathered water. Still not sure what (if anything) to do with it but it's still up for consideration.

The box is almost full (I've come along way from here). I began this activity in Italy in 2011, never knowing when it would end and what it would eventually contain. There are seven more bottles left and I don't care if it takes the rest of my life to fill. I want the locations to be special and once the box is complete, the project is done.

The fear of dropping this and losing them all ran high as I carried it across campus to the studio this week.

These three are some of my favorites: the floating pumice from Lake Taupo (North Island, NZ), the illicit collection from Hearst Castle, and the Arctic Ocean, a place I never imagined I would see until last year. I have a couple ideas for the remainders but no plans for all seven. Here's to spontaneity and the unknown. A project like this never had direct parameters but I am happy to see that it's getting closer to the end.

Sunday, September 4, 2016

At Brush Creek Foundation for the Arts, I made the mock-up for my first small run publication, Icelandic Blue: Pantone 15-3908. In July, with a lot of help from Fred Bower (my colleague who teaches graphic design), it was ready to print.

I loved how the publishing company thought they accidentally smudged the front cover but then realized the fingerprints and dark marks were on the original files. With the exception of the addition of my copyright information, the cover represents the notebook I carted all over the country, documenting what we wanted to see each day and what we actually accomplished.

The inside, however, reflects upon the act of reading paint samples for a year (before and after the trip to the Arctic Circle). I tried to find direct and indirect references to Iceland and then photographed the colors that most accurately described them while traveling around the country. Some were successful comparisons and others were not.

Many of the artworks in the Autobiography in Water series expand upon the methods of presentation that I constantly rely upon to show my artwork. This particular product is a clear reference to Ed Ruscha's sixteen limited edition publications from 1963-1979.

250 were printed and are available for $10 plus shipping. Email me if you are interested in acquiring one!

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

It took awhile to track this down for the Anonymous Inventory of Objects Stolen From Art Departments series. It was the first time one was photographed in an environment. I am not sure if it will be included in the Art Department series, but I am glad that it exists before I return it.

The clinical white background will be part of the inventory. I am inching toward 50 items. Slowly but surely. Once that happens, I'd like to create a small publication and a site-specific installation at a university gallery where contributions are solicited to add to my collection.

About Me

I am fascinated by Conceptual Art, photography and its relationship to sculpture and installation, artist’s books, appropriation, the Earthworks movement, and the narrative as found in constructed imagery. Found photographs, maps, 16th century cabinets of curiosity in the form of the wunderkammer, fake desserts, swimming pools, worn and dilapidated objects, obsessive behavior in collecting, repetition, and storytelling are all important influences. Recently, my interests have expanded to include clandestine activities through artist correspondence, interventions, and guerilla art projects. I am also a photographer of objects - the object transformed into a self-portrait, a representation of place, a distant memory, or a symbol of fixation.
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Copyright

All creative work and images by Jacinda Russell are copyrighted and any use without express written permission is strictly prohibited. Other people's images are clearly labeled with their names and/or source.